You Were My Best Friend
by LoveLoveLovix
Summary: Lonely ten year old Bloom Peters tends to space off at her dance lessons. When she meets a magical fairy princess in one of her daydreams, they become friends. But is that friendship is doomed after an injury ends Bloom's short-lived dancing career?


**You Were My Best Friend  
>A Winx Club Prequel<strong>

* * *

><p><span>Author's Note: I wrote this on a whim. It took four hours, a lot of research, and an excuse to watch a few episodes of Season 2! This story is a BloomAisha story set mostly as a prequel to Winx Club, but partially at the beginning of Season 2. It is a mixture of all three English dub canons. And it's a one-shot, so unless people beg, I won't be writing any more about this story. Enjoy!

* * *

><p><em>December 10, 1994<em>

"Bloom, honey!" Vanessa called as she opened the door to her young daughter's bedroom. "It's time to get up on your happy birthday!"

The girl sprang up so fast that her mother almost doubted she had been asleep at all. "It's morning? Do I get my surprise now?"

Vanessa and Mike had promised their only child a special surprise for her birthday. Her older, eight-year old, friend Mitzi Addams had been taking dance since before she was in kindergarten, and Bloom had waned so badly to join her. Though the Peters family didn't have much, Mike had worked overtime to be able to assure his daughter a year of dance lessons at Madame Morgana's studio down the road, starting that day.

Mike walked into the room right on cue, pulling on his winter jacket. "Hmmm, I don't know. Five is awfully young for a surprise as big as this…"

"But Daddy, I'm six today!" Bloom laughed.

He grinned. "That's right! I forgot! So that means you're just barely old enough. Get your clothes on and Mommy will help with your shoes, and we'll get going."

Racing to her dresser, Bloom tore off her pajamas and struggled into a bright yellow shirt, checking to make sure the tag was in the back and not the front. She slipped into a pair of overalls, then wiggled ten small toes into her socks. When she was done, Vanessa put a pair of sneakers onto her little feet, then coaxed tangled red hair into matching pigtails on the sides of her head. "Ready?" she asked her daughter as she helped Bloom into a small coat.

"Uh-huh!"

The family piled into the car and drove only a little ways down the road before pulling into an unmarked building. "Where are we?" the youngest Peters asked as she looked around.

"Nowhere special," Mike commented. He swung a drawstring bag around until it hung off his shoulder casually. "Just a school."

"A school?" Bloom wrinkled her tiny nose. "But it's Saturday!"

"Well, maybe you'll give this school a try. Here," he said, handing her the bag. "That can be your school supplies. Open it up and see what you need!"

Bloom sat down on the ground, not paying any attention to the cold, and started to rifle through the gift Mike had given. She pulled out a pair of miniature ballet shoes, tights, and a leotard before coming to the _pièce de résistance_- a small pink tutu. "Is this ballerina fairy princess school?" the little girl gasped.

"Well, I don't know about that," Vanessa laughed. "But it certainly is dance lessons."

* * *

><p><em>December 31, 1998<em>

At barely ten years old, Bloom Anne Peters called herself a dancer.

The rest of her sixth-grade class called her a little nerd.

It was probably an accurate name. She had skipped two grade levels, she drew manga all over her pre-algebra notebooks, she wasn't part of the It Crowd, and her nose was usually stuck in a fantasy novel or non-fiction _exposé_ about the supernatural. Her personal favorite was Fairies: Myth or Reality? and it was what was currently lying in the studio lobby with the rest of her school things.

Bloom wasn't thinking about any of that at the moment. She was too busy dancing. That distraction had been precisely the point. It had been a very rough day, and if Bloom danced hard enough, she could go to her happy place.

Her happy place was a very tangible thing, to her, at least. And going there was quite an experience. The setting of Madame Morgana's would first fade… then slowly, a new world would appear. This new world featured Bloom high up in a tower, one without walls. She could see blue sky all around. If she looked down (very carefully, at first), it was easy to see the most beautiful water she had ever encountered. Bloom could have spent all day looking at these sites, every day. But her body would keep dancing until she chose to return, and if she spent too long in her happy place, when she got back, she would be exhausted and incredibly hungry. She knew this from experience.

She could stop for a while in her dream, if she chose. But today, Bloom was in the mood to dance. Four years of ballet, with two years of jazz added on when she was eight (at the expense of a yearly Christmas gift), gave her a fun, twisted style that she played with as she spun and twirled. She stayed in one end of the room until she noticed a girl.

Not much younger than her, the lovely child had gorgeous dark skin and hair. She wore an elaborate blue headpiece and stunning yellow dress. Bloom could tell immediately that she was some sort of royalty. But her dreams had never conjured up another person. Maybe there was a reason… or maybe, the girl was magical! "You're a princess, right?" she called out, slightly nervous. The girl looked up. "My name is Anne," Bloom continued. She knew she had read somewhere that you should never give a fairy or other spirit your real name. But her middle name was probably safe… and she would respond to it if the girl cried out for her.

The beautiful girl spoke with a voice that seemed older and more weary than her young face did. "What are you doing up here in the Royal Tower?" she asked.

Bloom grasped at the first answer that flew to her head, hoping she sounded natural. "I snuck up here," she said as she leaped a small distance. Then, completely honestly, she answered, "It's my favorite place to dance."

"I wish I could do that." The girl sounded awed and a little bit friendlier. In return, Bloom hummed a melody and showcased some of her favorite steps.

As she landed from her last little leap, she spun to face the princess. "Do you want me to teach you?" she asked.

With obvious caution, the royal girl stood up and walked gracefully over to Bloom. She placed a small, dark hand in Bloom's pale and gangly one. "Would you really? I would love it. Oh… I'm Princess Laylaisha."

"Laylaisha," Bloom said, testing it out. "Can I just call you Layla?"

Laylaisha looked shocked, as if nobody had ever suggested such a thing to her. But quickly, her expression turned into a smile. "Yes, please. Call me Layla."

* * *

><p><em>January 17, 1999<em>

Layla and Bloom spun around, holding hands in such a way that Bloom hadn't done since she was in first grade. Then again, it had been about that long since she had a friend. When they finally stopped, slightly dizzy and very giddy, Bloom smiled. "You're really getting good, Layla," she complimented.

"Yeah," Layla sighed. It was a new word for her- Bloom had taken it upon herself to teach her new friend all the slang she knew. Granted, it wasn't much. "But I'm not as free as you are, Anne."

Bloom knew it was true. And she had an idea. "Come with me," she said in her most commanding voice.

Layla took her hand again, and they ran to the other side of the tower, laughing. When they got there, breathless, Bloom tried some of her most fun, crazy jazz moves. "Try this," she said to her friend.

However, the princess didn't pick up the moves. She let her shoulders droop and her head fall. "I just feel so self-conscious," she said. It took all of Bloom's will not to frown. She knew how that feeling was. What she had never quite understood in her two weeks of friendship with Layla was how a princess- a fairy princess for that matter- could ever feel that way.

She pulled out the only piece of suitable advice she had, something she remembered from the days before Madame Morgana disappeared from her studio, the days before everyone except for Bloom forgot she ever existed. "Layla," she said, "you've gotta learn to dance like no one's looking."

Layla smiled a bit. "Okay, I'll try," she promised.

"Just set yourself free," Bloom said as she struck a pose.

Layla laughed and followed with her own. "What is your life like? Outside the castle?"

"It's hard," Bloom said, starting to dance again. "My parents are wonderful, but the kids at school aren't."

"I didn't think there was a school on Andros."

Bloom froze for a minute before deciding to tell the truth… if only a little piece of it. "I don't know if there is or not. I come from far away."

Midtwirl, she watched Aisha's eyes light up. "Oh, please tell me what it's like there, Anne!"

"Well…" Bloom thought for a moment before beginning to talk. "There aren't any castles. There's no royalty, not where I live anyway. I live in a building with many other people, called an apartment. We get rooms to ourselves though, my parents and me. My room is covered in books and drawings and stuffed animals. Oh! And my real pet bunny."

"You said before you went somewhere to dance besides here?"

"Yes… Madame Morgana's. I took lessons from Morgana, but she disappeared when I was about seven. Then Ms. Matthews took over the dance studio. I go there at least twice a week, once for lyrical and once for jazz. If I can somehow get the money, I want to start hip-hop this year."

Layla's brow furrowed in confusion. "But you don't live there anymore. You live on Andros now, and we don't have studios on Andros."

"Oh, yeah. I forgot." Bloom mentally slapped herself for forgetting that Layla didn't know that this was a dream, or a hallucination, or some sort of magic. She thought Anne was just an older girl who lived in the village. "Maybe you could talk to Queen Niobe and King Teredor about starting up a school where they teach hip-hop!"

Layla mumbled something. "Huh?" Bloom said.

"I don't see my parents much," Layla repeated. "I stay with my nanny most of the time."

Bloom tried not to gawk. "But Layla, you're ten!"

"Yes. When I'm twelve, I won't need a nanny anymore. I'll have a governess instead. Do they not have nannies and governesses in the village, Anne?"

Bloom didn't answer. Instead, she spun around, smiled at her friend, and said, "Heya Layla, want me to teach you the little hip-hop I know already?"

Layla forgot all about her questions instantly. She jumped up and said, "Most definitely!"

* * *

><p><em>November 1, 2000<em>

Bloom's tears stained her denim jacket as she ran from Gardenia Junior High to Madame Morgana's. She needed to dance, but more than that, she needed to see Layla. She still wasn't sure if it was magic, or if Layla was something her mind made up… but either way, the two had become best friends in the nearly two years they had spent together.

Being eleven and in eighth grade was tough, especially when her former friend Mitzi suddenly decided not only to ignore "the little geek," but to openly make her life miserable. And as everybody loved Mitzi, whatever she said seemed to be law. Even to the teachers that Bloom worked so hard to try to please. Though Mitzi had long ago transferred to another dance studio across town, Bloom still harbored a little worry that soon not even the dance studio would be a haven for her.

She didn't bother to take off her street shoes when she entered the studio, let alone take off her jacket. She just raced onto the dance floor. She wasn't even looking where she was going when she started to dance- she knew both the steps and the room by heart.

When the room started to blur, but Andros had not yet begun to appear, she ran into Ms. Matthews' brand new baby grand piano. She literally didn't know what hit her.

* * *

><p><em>November 2, 2000<em>

"Bloom! Bloom! Honey!"

Bloom sat groggily up in bed, eyes half opened. "Mommy?" she asked.

Vanessa gasped. "Yes! Bloom, sweetie, are you alright?"

"I feel fine… except my head really hurts."

She fully opened her eyes. "Where am I? A hospital?"

A man in a white coat… oh, a doctor… nodded. "That's right, Ms. Peters. Ms. Matthews found you lying on the floor of her dance studio, unconscious and bleeding. She drove you right here and called your parents."

"Where's Dad?"

Vanessa smiled and squeezed Bloom's hand. "He's at home sleeping. He stayed up all night waiting for you to wake up… oh, Bloom… you worried us so bad!"

"All right, Mrs. Peters, let's save that for a couple seconds. I need to go through concussion examinations." He turned to the eleven year old. "Do you know your full name?"

"Yeah. Bloom Anne Peters."

The doctor checked something off on a clipboard. "Age?"

"Eleven. Almost twelve."

"What's today's date?"

"November 1, 2000."

"Actually, you've been out for about a day. It's the second now. But I think we'll let it count." He winked conspiratorially. "You seem to be fine, in this aspect at least. We'll run some other things later. Think you can wait around this place for a few more hours?"

Bloom shrugged. Her head hurt too much to care.

As if he could read her mind, he said, "And I'll get you something for your head, Ms. Peters. A nurse will bring it in shortly.

As the doctor exited the room, he nearly bumped into Mike. Bloom's father didn't bother to apologize, but merely raced to his daughter's bedside. "Bloom!" he cried. "You're awake! Is she okay?" he asked Vanessa.

"It certainly looks like that!" she replied.

Mike turned back to his daughter. "You, young lady, are not doing any more dancing."

Bloom's brow furrowed. She was sure she had heard wrong. "What?" she asked.

"No more dancing," Mike repeated.

"…Oh, you mean, until I'm better." That was the only thing he _could_ mean.

Mike shook his head. "I am not having you in that studio risking your body for dance! I read up about all the things that happen to dancers, and I am not letting anything else happen to my precious little girl."

"I… I… what did I do exactly?"

"See," Mike said. "You don't even remember! You probably have a horrible concussion!"

"You ran into a piano and fell and hit your head," Vanessa informed her daughter. "And as much as I know you love to dance, I agree with your father. We can't put you in danger, honey. There will be other hobbies to have."

"But what about Layla?"

"Layla? Is she a friend from dance class? I thought you said you didn't have any friends."

Bloom didn't answer, except to say, "But this isn't fair!"

"Fair or not, I am your father. And I am not having you out on that dangerous slippery floor."

She knew she couldn't win. But she knew she had to have at least one more serious dance.

* * *

><p><em>December 22, 2000<em>

Bloom knew her parents too well. As was routine, they were going late-season Christmas shopping today. Normally it was for friends and they took about two hours and Bloom herself. But now that she wasn't getting dance lessons for the holidays, she had deliberately delayed her wish-list so that they would spend at least another hour looking for her wanted items. And, of course, this meant they couldn't bring their daughter. But Bloom was twelve. She was old enough now to stay home by herself.

"Don't run into anything," Mike called as he and Vanessa headed out the door. It had become a joke, almost.

She waited half an hour to make sure they didn't come back for anything forgotten, then slipped out and walked to Madame Morgana's. There was no class over the holiday week, but Bloom remembered seeing where Ms. Matthews put her extra key. She quickly unlocked the door and replaced it under the small stone dancer next to the door.

It took her no time at all to build up a good, emotional dance. However, the fade-out took longer to occur… maybe because she was afraid of falling again, or maybe the concussion had damaged whatever part of her that created Andros, no matter what the doctor said. But when the tower began to form around her, she felt relieved.

She came to a standstill, looking out at the sky and sea and knowing she'd never see it again. Then, Bloom heard a sound behind her. She turned to face Layla. "I thought I heard you!" Layla said joyously. "You've been gone so long, Anne! Where have you been?"

Bloom didn't answer. "Layla," she said, "is there a place I can talk to you and just sit down?" Dancing had already made her a little tired, one of the few things she knew was caused by the slight brain damage of the concussion.

Layla led Bloom through the castle and into a large chamber. "This is my room," she said. "It's not as pretty as the Royal Tower, but you and I can sit down on my bed."

They did, and Bloom sighed. She knew her story by heart, but it didn't make it any easier to say. "Layla, I have to go back to my home far away."

Layla looked shocked for a moment, then turned her head and began to cry. She buried her face into a pillow. Bloom didn't know what to do except for smile and say, "Don't worry Layla. I promise I'll write." Which of course, she couldn't do.

Bloom had no clue how she was holding it together. It wasn't just Layla who was losing her best friend. She was losing Layla as well.

"Please don't go," Layla whispered.

Bloom had nothing to say to that, so she hugged her friend as tight as she could and let herself go back to the real world.

* * *

><p><em>September 5, 2005<em>

A gangly preteen girl with carroty pigtailed braids still existed inside the gorgeous, fire-headed Princess Bloom of Domino (age almost-seventeen), though she knew she was the only one who realized that. A year of training to be a fairy had changed her incredibly, bestowing her with confidence and four best friends who shined like a light in her dark, friendless life.

But she knew she was still weak and geeky inside. She had just become okay with accepting it and hiding it away.

Princess Bloom, the most powerful fairy in the universe, still didn't know exactly what to do when she and her friends saw a gorgeous, dark skinned girl stumble out of the dark forest, shaking violently. "Hey," she said, "Are you okay?"

In response, the girl fell over and blacked out.

Tecna did some digital stuff that nobody but her understood while Bloom and the other three held the young woman up. "She's a princess!" the purple-haired girl finally determined. "Princess Aisha."

"Isn't everyone these days?" said a voice in her head. Bloom shook it off, but the sarcastic part of her noticed that the princess even looked somewhat generic. Bloom was sure she'd seen someone who looked like the girl before.

_Layla._

But that wasn't who it was. Layla was prim and proper. She would never have been allowed to wear those ratty pants.

And besides… Layla probably wasn't even real. And even if she was, this was Princess Aisha.

There was no way they were the same person.


End file.
